


Old Habits Die Hard

by DonutCare0115



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonutCare0115/pseuds/DonutCare0115
Summary: Bad habits are hard to shake.
Relationships: Female Detective/Farah Hauville, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Male Detective/Ava du Mortain, Male Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Kudos: 17





	1. Negative to Oneself

For as long as Grey could remember, he always did this to himself.

Constantly talking down to himself, telling himself he couldn’t do certain things, or telling himself he wasn’t good enough to be in the presence of people he considered as friends.

Growing up, saying those things out loud made it seem he was just a regular child, either trying to gain attention or being dramatic and after a while, Grey simply stopped saying those things out loud only to be terrorized by his thoughts.

It was how Grey preferred it though.

It was better to keep it inside so he didn’t bother anyone else with how he was feeling because other people needed help more than he did. Besides, helping others always made Grey feel good inside, knowing that he helped someone feel better, either with themselves or helping them with a problem always brought a smile to his face.

Though, sometimes he wondered what person he would have become if he didn’t stop saying how he felt. 

“If you’re thinking that hard after what we did, then I didn’t do a good enough job.”

Grey jerked in alarm, opening his eyes and looking toward the man beside him. 

Mason had a smirk on his face, though he wasn’t looking at Grey. One arm was tucked beneath his head and the other laying beside Grey. Grey thought about reaching out and taking it but instead rolled onto his stomach with his arms beneath his head to resist the urge.

“No, it was good,” Grey nodded absentmindedly and blushed when Mason looked at him with his brow arched. “You know what I mean.”

“You wound me, handsome,” Mason lifted his arm from between them to hook his fingers underneath the blanket over Grey’s shoulders. He gently dragged it down, revealing olive skin underneath. “Especially when you’re hiding all this.”

Grey laughed shyly, burying his face in his arms. Mason himself chuckled lowly and kept dragging the blanket down until it settled around Grey’s hips. Grey shivered, both at the loss of warmth and the feeling of fingers tracing up his back and into his hair, where they gently carded through the strands.

“It’s not like you’re missing much,” Grey said, turning his head to look at Mason and was shocked to see the vampire looking mildly confused. 

It was the truth, though.

Grey wasn’t noteworthy. He almost always blended in the crowd with his average looks and his shy personality. He was noticed sometimes by his somewhat girlish looks and his fashion sense, but other than that, Grey wasn’t worth anyone’s attention. 

Grey’s hands clutched at the pillow beneath him as his thoughts started becoming more consistent. He could handle it though, he’s been doing it for the past fifteen years, but he wants someone to be there for him just as he’s been there for others. 

The thing is, Grey’s just not worth it.

“That’s not a good look for you, handsome.”

Mason reached out with his other hand, rubbing at the furrow in Grey’s brow to smooth it out. It was usually a sign that Grey was holding back crying, and Grey crying was surprisingly not that common for such an emotional man, and something Mason never wanted to see.

“Sorry,” Grey chuckled, moving to wipe at his eyes. Mason removed his hands from Grey, giving the man room to compose himself. “Ugh, I hate when I’m like this.”

Grey twisted around onto his back, sitting up and scooting back to rest against the headboard. He rubbed his hands against his face and then abruptly slapped them which resulted in a quiet, “ow.”

Mason snorted in amusement and made to move so he was sitting beside Grey against the headboard. The small smile that Grey sent him made Mason feel warm in a way he wasn’t familiar with. 

No, that was a lie.

Mason was familiar with the feeling, and he always felt it around Grey. Whenever Grey smiled at him, whenever their gazes met when the other entered the room, and whenever Mason’s senses were being overwhelmed, Grey always seemed to notice because he grasped Mason’s hand in his own. The more Grey took his hand in those moments, the more Mason was expecting it and wanting it, and needing it.

Mason frowned when he looked at Grey, remembering his earlier comment. The man was too attractive to ignore. His hair falling into his eyes, eyes that were quite mesmerizing when the sun hit them, the beauty mark under his left eye, and his mouth that was almost always parted open. 

Grey was oblivious to how much he affected Mason, and in more ways than one, but Mason would have to change Grey’s thought process, so he held out his hand toward Grey.

Grey, when he noticed Mason’s hand held out to him, simply blinked at it before placing his hand in Mason’s own. Mason grasped his hand tighter and pulled until Grey was seated on his lap, a comfortable and warm pressure.

Mason nosed at Grey’s jawline, moving his hands to grasp at Grey’s hips, and began his quest of pressing kisses to the bare skin on display that Mason could reach. Grey giggled when the kisses were being pressed against his face and wrapped his arms around Mason’s shoulders and making a low sound when Mason made his way down to his neck, tilting his head to make room for Mason. 

Just as Mason was going to flip them around to really show Grey what he thought, he felt warm hands on his face, pulling him away. Looking up at the sight of Grey smiling down at him with tears in his eyes, which shone with happiness, made Mason’s breath hitch. His arms, which were now slung low around Grey’s hips, tightened. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Grey whispered, pressing a kiss on the tip of Mason’s nose, then traveling up to press a kiss on his forehead, too.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around, handsome.”

Grey laughed in embarrassment, and when it took more effort to keep himself from crying, his laugh turned into choked sobs. Grey leaned in, pressing his face against the crook of Mason’s neck, and moved his arms until he was holding Mason’s head. 

The thoughts wouldn’t stop, not today at least, but they were quieter and Grey hoped that one day he wouldn’t hear them at all.


	2. Lying

Growing up, Orianna didn’t have any reason to lie. 

There was no use for it. People lied for various reasons, something that Orianna has observed continuously, and it was usually to spare someone’s feelings. Other times, it was the opposite way around, lying to actively hurt someone. Sometimes, people don’t even realize they’re lying because they believe it themselves.

It was abhorrent. 

It was abhorrent that lying was seemingly easy for Orianna to do. 

Honestly, the lying was more to do with her work-life than anything else. She would lie to gain information, having no regard for the other person at all to fulfill her job. She would plaster on a charming smile, dress in a way that got her noticed, and act in a way that wasn’t her at all.

Over the years, though, she found herself lying in her personal life. She would lie about getting enough sleep, lie about not needing anything, and would generally lie to save people from being too invested in her. 

Though Orianna could never lie to Unit Bravo (and not because of their enhanced senses), but more specifically Nate, in the ways that she lied to other people. They knew more about her than anyone else, but she found herself still lying from time to time, and it hurt her because they didn’t deserve it.

Orianna sighed, removing her glasses and setting them down on the table she was sitting at. She runs a hand through her hair, clutching at the strands, and taps a finger on the table with the other hand. She’s been having more nightmares frequently, and normally it wasn’t something that bothered her, but these were different.

Nate was in them. 

Last night had been one of the worst Orianna’s had since they started back up again. She dreamed that every lie she told, whether it seemed harmless to her or her sheer avoidance of something, a piece of herself would break and fall to the ground. Nate would look down at it, frowning, and would bend down to pick it up. He would straighten up, all the while still looking at it, before offering it back to her with a sad smile on his face.

As soon as Orianna touched it, Nate shattered into pieces that fell at her feet.

Orianna had woken up gasping out his name.

She had thought about driving to the warehouse to see him, and in the end, decided against it because he would have asked questions and she was sure that she would have lied to him. Orianna couldn’t continue like this, not anymore, but it wouldn’t be that simple.

“Lost in thought?”

Orianna’s head jerked up in surprise and her eyes landed on Nate across the room. He was smiling at her but Orianna could see the worry in his eyes. 

“I suppose you could say that,” she replied softly, looking back down at the book she was supposed to be reading. Her lips pursed in thought, considering telling Nate about her thoughts, but if she attempted it, she would downplay it in some way. That Orianna knew.

Nate looked at her, warm brown eyes staring at her and brow furrowed in thought. His gaze always had Orianna tense up slightly because if there was anyone who could see through her, it would surely be him. 

That’s what she wanted though, right?

“Is everything alright, Oria?” Nate questioned after a moment. Orianna chuckled, another finger joining the tapping. Three consecutive taps sounded, a pause, and then another three.

“Yes,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m lost in thought, as you said.”

_‘Quit asking questions, please. I can’t bear it when I lie to you. When I hurt myself by lying to you,’_ Orianna thought, clutching more tightly at the strands of hair in her hand.

“Do you need to talk?” Nate asked, bookmarking where he stopped and set the book aside. He stood up from his seat, walking across the small space between them, and took a seat across from Orianna. He stretched his arms out so his hands could settle on the middle of the table, a silent reassurance. 

Orianna’s gaze fell on Nate across from her, her fingers loosening in her hair and the tapping ceasing. All she had to say was, ‘yes, I need to talk to you.’

Three consecutive taps.

“No, I don’t need to talk,” Orianna smiled at him, eyes closing briefly so she wouldn’t see the look on Nate’s face. “Thank you, though.”

Nate wasn’t paying attention to her face though, but on her hand instead. He’s seen her do it before, back when they first met, but Nate didn’t pay any mind to it then. She had been leaning against her desk, hands resting on it, and two of her fingers gave three consecutive taps before she had put on a charming smile, welcomed them, and told them that they would settle in fine in the small town. Then, when Rebecca had left them alone with her daughter, Orianna had changed into a completely different person. The charming smile fell and a stoic mask was set in place.

Was Orianna conscious of it? Was it her trying to say that she was going to lie?

“Orianna,” Nate stretched one of his arms out, placing a finger on one of her own. Orianna’s eyes opened, lips parting in shock as her gaze darted between their fingers and Nate’s face. Nate smiled at her reaction. “It’s okay.”

“What?” Orianna’s face scrunched up in confusion which served to brighten Nate’s smile. 

“You do this,” Nate demonstrated with his free hand, two fingers making three consecutive taps, “when you’re lying, right?”

Orianna looked at him, her face smoothing slightly as realization dawned on her. She removed her hand from her hair, bringing it down to press against her mouth in shock.

“It’s not okay,” Orianna finally spoke, her hand falling from her mouth to clutch at Nate’s free hand on the table. “It’s not okay that I’ve grown accustomed to it. It’s not okay because it’s like an instinct, now. It’s not okay when I lie to you!”

“Orianna,” Nate began, squeezing her hand, but was cut off.

“Nate, you need to call me out on it,” Orianna stood up, her hands falling away from him as she looked down at him. “You need to call me out on it because one day I won’t be able to discern when I’m telling the truth or not. I don’t want to end up like that, not when I know I’m going to hurt both of us one of these days because of it.”

Orianna picked up her glasses, sliding them on her face, and turned on her heel. She didn’t move and Nate stood up, making his way around the table but stopped when Orianna hunched herself over.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” Orianna straightened, turning and stepping around to stand in front of him. She took his hand in her own, bringing it up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll work on it for both of us. This, I promise.”

Nate twisted his hand to hold Orianna’s, bringing it up to press a kiss to her knuckles while looking at her.

“I believe you.”


	3. Perfectionism

Ishan was always envious of others’ achievements and successes.

It didn’t help that they were surrounded by some sort of support system, whether it was family, friends, or even their superiors that helped them along the way. Ishan would set out to do better than them, but it was never as good as the others, no matter if anyone said otherwise because he just couldn’t see it.

Why was Ishan any different?

He put in as much work as anyone else, even more so, and nothing came out the way he wanted it to. Almost anything he worked on didn’t come out the way he wanted it to, and over time, he simply didn’t do anything if he thought he couldn’t give his best. The attention that Ishan got because of that didn’t help either. 

For the first time in a long time, he was getting noticed, and it wasn’t out of some sort of obligation. 

Still, it didn’t stop him from trying to give his best in something he knew he could achieve, like this report.

Ishan gritted his teeth in annoyance. He knew he could do this, but nothing was coming out right. He even set it aside to work on the other reports and did them with relative ease, surprisingly. Why was this not as easy?

After trying to begin the report for the umpteenth time, and it not coming out right, Ishan grabbed a file and put it on top of the report in order not to look at it. He runs his hands through his hair, feeling a headache form from his frustration. 

This was ridiculous.

Ishan booted up his computer, opened up a writing system, and began the report again. Typing filled the silence of his office and occasionally there would be a pause when Ishan would jam his finger on the backspace button to delete every word he’d typed up. He was so caught up that he didn’t notice his office door open and close.

“Detective?” 

Ava was, to say, quite perplexed at the sight before her. 

Ishan was visibly frustrated, fingers jamming on the keyboard with the occasional scoff at the screen. On one such scoff, he turned his head away from the screen and caught sight of Ava standing in front of the office door. 

“Ava?” Ishan asked, his eyes widening a little in shock before he composed himself. He looked at Ava, his lips twitching as if to hold back a smile. “I was not aware that you were going to be here.”

“We were supposed to meet at the warehouse,” Ava said and Ishan’s brow quirked. Ava quickly rephrased. “You were supposed to be at the warehouse.”

Ishan glanced at the time on the computer, realizing that he had spent over an hour working on the report. He also realized that he had absolutely nothing to show for it either.

“I apologize. I didn’t realize how long this would take me,” Ishan said, leaning back in his chair with his arms on the armrests. His lips were pursed, and Ava recognized it as a sign of irritation. Still, Ishan looked at her apologetically.

“Yes, though, you could have let me,” Ava caught herself, finishing her statement more firmly. “One of us know.”

Ishan didn’t seem to notice Ava’s slip-up, thankfully, as he was back to jamming his fingers on the keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration. Ava’s jaw clenched at being thoroughly ignored, somewhat, but the urgency of Ishan’s typing was concerning. 

“Detective,” Ava said, walking up to Ishan’s desk. When she didn’t get an answer, she peered at the computer screen, seeing what seemed like a report in the makings. She skimmed through the report as Ishan was typing and found that it was extremely detailed for a simple report. 

Ishan abruptly stopped typing and Ava could see him squint at the screen as he leaned closer, eyes darting fast over the words. He leaned back, turning his head to look up at her, lips pressed tight together. 

“What do you think?” Ishan asked, jerking his head toward the screen. 

“This is your job, detective,” Ava reminded him, though she skimmed through the report once again, feeling his gaze on her. “It’s extremely detailed for a cat burglar.”

“I knew it,” Ishan muttered, his finger headed for the backspace button. “Why can’t this come out right?”

Ava grabbed his hand before it could land on the keyboard. She tried to ignore the warmth of his hand. 

“What are you doing?” Ava asked, moving his hand away from the keyboard before she jerked her hand back as if she had been burned. 

“I’m going to start over,” Ishan replied, sounding as though Ava should have already known. “It’s too detailed like you said. It has to be perfect.”

“It does not have to be perfect,” Ava said, meeting Ishan’s eye. The man’s brow furrowed a minuscule in confusion as if it’s the first he’s heard of such a thing. 

“That’s how I have always done things, though,” Ishan admitted, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “I have to set high standards for myself and my work.”

“Why?” Ava found herself asking. Ishan looked at her, eyes roaming about her face before he sat on the edge of his desk.

“When I was younger, I was often envious of other kids getting attention for the work they’d done and it was no sort of obligation, either,” Ishan chuckled humorously, shaking his head. “I was rather subdued in my youth, no friends, no mother, a house I lived in instead of a home to feel loved and appreciated. I felt like there was nothing for me.”

Ava’s hands clenched at her sides. She tried to imagine a life without Ishan being there, beside her and looking at her with a look in his eye that Ava didn’t want to name, but there was nothing. 

Ava wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t imagine such a life.

“I set high standards for myself so I could keep going,” Ishan stood up from his perch on his desk, stepping closer to her until he was a few feet away from her. His hand twitched at his side. “At first, it was to surpass the other kids, to be better than them so I could be recognized for my efforts. Then, it was only for me. It got out of hand over the years, but it kept me going.”

“I’m glad,” Ava blurted out. Her lips pressed tightly together. She did not want to say that. 

The small smile it brought to Ishan’s face made up for it though.

“As am I,” he whispered, looking down at her with obvious fondness. Ava cleared her throat, simultaneously hoping that he would stop looking at her like that and hoping that he wouldn’t. 

“If you take out some of the unnecessary details of the report, then it will be more clear and precise,” Ava turned away, pretending not to hear the chuckle from behind her. 

“As a report should be, yes?”

“Precisely.”

Ava couldn’t help but smile at the sharp bark of laughter.


	4. Stress Drinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Alcohol abuse

Drinking was a great stress reliever, Yvette found, and that it was a great comfort, too.

Yvette started drinking around when she was sixteen at a friend’s party. It was just a simple beer and it tasted disgusting, that Yvette remembers. It certainly didn’t stop her from drinking it along with five more.

After that, she didn’t seek it out. The beer was disgusting, which had made an impact on her drinking ever again, but she was offered whiskey once when she was eighteen by one of her college friends and she never went back from it. 

It was there after every breakup. It was there on the anniversary of her father’s death. It was there to help her escape from the world. It was there purely for the reason of being there. 

What Yvette didn’t know was that when she drank whiskey she became somewhat of a mean drunk.

Now, here she was, sitting on the couch in the warehouse with Farah beside her, a beer bottle in hand, with Nat sitting in an armchair, Morgan in a dark space of the room, and Ava standing by the window. 

“Ugh,” Yvette slams the bottle down on the stand beside her, wrinkling her nose and pretending to gag.

“Honestly, babe, if you don’t like it, don’t drink it,” Farah squeezed her thigh, bringing Yvette’s attention to the beautiful vampire beside her. 

“I have to,” Yvette insisted, turning her head to glare at the bottle. “If I don’t drink it now, then I will never drink it. Besides, it’ll feel like I haven’t earned the right to drink the good stuff and I seriously need the good stuff.”

Yvette tightened her grip on the bottle, bringing it back to her lips and chugging it down. She slammed the now empty bottle back on the stand, shivering in disgust, and immediately headed for her bag where she pulled out a large bottle of whiskey.

“That’s quite a large bottle, Yvette,” Nat commented, looking a bit concerned. Yvette looked her straight in the eye, a serious expression on her face.

“And this still won’t be enough,” Yvette opened the bottle quickly, drinking about a third of it off the bat. “Ugh, what a day.”

“Should you be drinking?” Ava asked, turning around with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. “You still have a job, detective. You could get called in at any moment.”

“Please, don’t remind me,” Yvette groaned, taking another swig of whiskey. “I’ve had paperwork to deal with, Douglas smoldering at me any chance he got, _Bobby_ , and a nut job that took a piss on me! I had to drive all the way home to take a shower, then back to work!”

Yvette's arms raised in the air in exasperation, the whiskey sloshing around in the bottle at the movement as Farah and Nat looked at her concerned, Ava’s brow-raising at Yvette’s outburst, and Morgan taking a long drag of her cigarette.

“How much have you had to drink?” Ava inquired. The question seemed to have flipped a switch because Yvette glared over at Ava, scoffing, and completely ignored the question. When Ava continued to stare her down was when Yvette answered.

“What’s it to ya?” 

All of them were shocked at the hostile tone. They’ve seen Yvette drink before, consuming enough to the point where it was extremely concerning. Though, it was only at the bar during the Murphy case.

“Babe,” Farah said, placing a hand on Yvette’s arm. “Maybe you should stop drinking for now.”

“Oh, piss off,” Yvette jerked her arm back from Farah’s touch and stood up, whiskey bottle clenched in her hand.

Farah blinked in surprise at what transpired, hand clutching at nothing.

“Yvette, Farah’s right,” Nat stood up, hands lowered as she glanced over at Farah, concerned. Yvette scoffed, once again, at the admission.

“I’m sick of everyone trying to have a say in my life,” Yvette pointed Nat with the hand the whiskey was clutched in, glaring at her. “None of you get a say in my life! You’ve ruined it! I can’t go a day without being terrified, without being paranoid at every little thing that I see out of the corner of my eye and every noise I hear.”

Yvette took another swig from the bottle, looking at each one of them in the eye until her gaze settled to meet Farah’s. 

“Sometimes, I wish I’d never met you guys at all.”

Yvette took another chug of the bottle, turning as she did it, and promptly tripped over nothing. Farah reached out to grab her, which she did before Yvette’s whole body hit the ground, but the force of the catch had her head hit the floor. 

The bottle fell from Yvette’s hand, effectively staining the carpet with its contents.

“Yvette!” Farah exclaimed, turning Yvette over onto her back. Farah reached out to rub at Yvette’s forehead, not noticing Nat kneeling beside her or the hand placed on her shoulder.

“You should take Yvette to her room,” Nat suggested, squeezing Farah’s shoulder to get her attention. Farah nodded rather absentmindedly, and gathered Yvette in her arms, not noticing the tears that rolled down her cheeks. When Farah straightened up, Nat stood up, reaching out and wiping away the tears on Farah’s cheeks. “Yvette will be all right, Farah.”

“I know,” Farah said, tightening her grip on Yvette. “I just wish I was there for her as she is for me.”

“You are, Farah, more than you know,” Nat smiled gently at her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. 

“With the amount of rambling I hear from Yvette about you, there’s no denying it,” Morgan piped in, jamming her cigarette into an ashtray. “Honestly, there’s no stopping her once she’s started.”

Farah smiled a little at the information.

“Now, go and make her comfortable for when she wakes up,” Nat said, reaching down and grabbing the bottle of whiskey on the floor. When she straightened up, Farah was gone.

“She had been drinking before she entered here,” Ava said, turning back to the window. “We should have stopped her.”

“Yes, but Yvette knows her limits,” Nat responded, looking down at the mess on the carpet. “She’s responsible enough to know when to stop. Though, from what she said, her day was stressful for her.”

“I suppose.”

~~~

When Yvette woke up, it was to a blinding headache. She groaned in pain and attempted to roll over but there was a weight around her waist. Looking down revealed an arm and when she followed the length of it, she meets the eyes of Farah.

Yvette sighed, relaxing into the bed and putting her hand on the arm around her. 

“I’m guessing that I’d passed out,” Yvette croaked out, trailing fingers over Farah’s arm. Farah didn’t say anything, which was unusual, and only scooted closer to Yvette, clinging to her. Yvette chuckled nervously. “Darling, you’re worrying me.”

“Do you wish you’d never met us? Met me?” Farah blurted, tightening her grip on Yvette. Yvette hummed. 

“I said something, didn’t I?” 

“More than something.”

Yvette turned as much as she could to tilt Farah’s head up so she was looking at her. Yvette traced Farah’s face with her fingers until they settled against her cheek, noticing the worried and frightened look as Farah gazed up at Yvette. 

“I believe that there is some semblance of the truth of a drunk’s rambles,” Yvette began, “but that’s all it is. A semblance. Whatever I said, I believed it or I felt it at one point, but know that this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Yvette leaned down, kissing Farah’s forehead softly. When she pulled back she smiled at Farah who only kissed her in reply. 

“That can’t be good for your senses!” Yvette laughed as they pulled back, wincing at the pain it brought to her head. “Ah, I should forego drinking whiskey, then!”

“Probably,” Farah replied, grinning a little. 

They laid there together, wrapped in each other’s arms as they took in the situation. Yvette looked down at the vampire in her arms, realizing that, without a doubt, that she would do anything for her. 

What was a bottle of whiskey compared to the utter delight Yvette felt when she was with Farah.

“You know I’m here for you, Yvette,” Farah spoke, a seriousness to her voice. Yvette kissed the top of her head, tightening her arms around Farah.

“I know, darling, I know.”


End file.
